Page 57 of A Stranger’s Promise

Chapter Fourteen

After seeing his stepmother on her way to London and Captain Edwards bundled off to the authorities, Alistair left for Glasgow to submit the Piper’s proof to the courts and settle the matter of his inheritance once and for all. It took longer than he liked. The wheels of the law turned slowly but, at last, he saw the matter done, and he left Glasgow, eager to return to Castle Culzean and the hazel-eyed lass who awaited him.

When, at last, he drove down the tree-lined carriage drive and under Culzean’s arched entrance, he discovered his barouche was only one of many gathered there.

“The spring ball is tomorrow,” Nicholas greeted him with a grin as he stepped out of his carriage. “I feared you, the guest of honor, had forgotten.”

“If I had organized it myself, I would have remembered,” Alistair said as he and Nichols entered the rear gardens. The castle glittered with lights and guests milled about the lawn to the accompaniment of a small orchestra.

“Did you not say the party was tomorrow?” Alistair asked.

“Many of the guests arrived early, my dear fellow.”

“Will they be leaving soon?” Alistair half growled as he took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. He emptied the glass then handed it to another waiter and navigated past a group of ladies in a rainbow array of elegant evening gowns with Nicholas close behind. He sidestepped a group of men, then entered the castle through the open balcony doors and strode across the ballroom.

Alistair glanced at Nicholas. “Hadn’t you better see to your guests?”

“Later.”

They reached a side staircase and sprinted up the stairs. At last, they reached the study.

A maid poked the fire in the hearth. “It’s good to have you back, my lord.” She leaned the poker against the hearth, then bobbed a curtsey and hurried out the door.

With a sigh, Alastair rubbed his shoulder, then noticed a parcel on the table.

“That came with the post a few days ago.” Nicholas plopped down in a chair and stretched out his long legs.

Alistair pulled back the wrapper to reveal a worn, leather-bound book. As he lifted it up, a sheet of paper fell out, fluttering to the floor. He picked it up, then scanned the bold script that stated the book was the authentic possession of one Anna Atchenson, Charlotte’s mother.

“What book is this?” Nicholas asked curiously from his seat before the fire.

Alistair shook his head. “It’s not a book, lad, ‘tis a treasure of the heart.” He slipped the book back into the wrapping and tied the string as Nicholas averted his gaze to the fire. Something about the man’s manner caught his attention.

Alistair set the package back on the desk. “What ill has befallen you? You do not seem like yourself.”

“I am well enough,” he replied with a pained look.

Alistair grimaced. “Please assure me you haven’t invited new house guests I must attend to?”

Nicholas humphed. “I may have landed myself in a wee bit of trouble.”

“How is this new?” Alistair couldn’t resist a bit of a mocking laugh.

Nicholas made a half-hearted attempt to smile before saying, “It’s blackmail.”

“Blackmail?” Alistair’s amusement faded. “That sounds serious. Who?”

“A woman.” The baronet scowled.

So soon? But then, Nicholas had lost interest in Lady Catherine Brexley from the moment of her arrival. He’d been outright relieved when she’d gone. After the scandal of her chaperone, Captain Edwards, had come to light, she’d fled Culzean as if from the bubonic plague.

Alistair regarded him. “A woman? Then I daresay it’s well deserved.”

Nicholas shot him a scathing look, then hefted himself to his feet and stalked from the room. Alistair watched him go, but shrugged the matter away. Nicholas and scandals went hand-in-hand. Picking up the wrapped book, he smiled. Since he’d left, he’d thought of little else other than Charlotte. Now, there was nothing to stop him.

The setting sun cast long shadows over the castle as he took the rear stairs up to the nursery. In the distance, he heard the gong of the dinner bell mingling with the strains of a waltz played by the musicians out on the lawn. He strode down the hall, past the maids lighting the candles and lamps, and reached the nursery door.

Slowly, he twisted the knob and opened the door. Charlotte stood at the window. Music drifted through the open window. He slid his gaze down her slender body. The ever-defiant curls escaped the pins above the curve of her neck. He’d missed her.